For crying out loud, she hadn’t made love four times in the last two years.
Wait; hadn’t she gone over there to sleep in his arms? Yes, she’d intended to have mindless sex and then go to sleep, not spend the night going at it like two horny teenagers. Niall had actually laughed out loud every time he’d had to catch her before she landed on her ass on the floor. (Note to self: Do not slather every inch of your body with lotion just before engaging in hot, sweaty sex.) Mon Dieu; she’d laughed out loud, too, picturing him as one of those kids at local fairs trying to hold on to a greased pig!
And speaking of asses, what was so fascinating about hers, anyway? She’d better not look in the mirror this morning and see—
Birch straightened at the realization that instead of staring out at Bottomless, she’d just spent the last five minutes staring at three strange vehicles parked in the driveway. Well, one huge vehicle and two of those little golf cart thingies like Rana Oceanus used for traveling the camp road on rainy days.
Birch shot to her feet and ran down the walkway, only to slip to a halt on the dew-covered grass when she saw the small lettering on the rear side window of the SUV that said Spellbound Falls Crisis Center. She turned to the carts, which looked to be brand-spanking-new, and saw the same discreet lettering on the side panels.
Oh God, all three were candy-apple red.
But where had they come from? When had they been delivered?
“Oh God,” she repeated out loud, covering her mouth in horror. Had whoever delivered them knocked on the door last night only to not find the center director home because she’d been next door having sex with her neighbor?
So why hadn’t Shep barked? Even if the vehicles had been delivered after she’d snuck the poor dog back inside at two in the morning, his canine ears should have heard something. “The shelter’s first line of defense, my ass,” Birch muttered, unable to resist running a finger along the beautiful red paint as she walked around the SUV. She opened the driver’s door, stepped up on the running board to slide in behind the wheel, and sucked in the new vehicle smell—stopping in mid-suck when she noticed the linen card sticking out of a cubbyhole on the dash.
Birch grabbed it and started reading. It has come to my attention that both the Crisis Center and Birthing Clinic are in need of safe and reliable transportation.
She knew Dr. Bentley drove a compact . . . rust-bucket, and remembered wondering how the tall, lanky man folded himself into it, even as she’d pictured him wading through five-foot snowdrifts next winter trying to find the poor thing.
So please accept this truck, Miss Callahan, she continued reading, to help you serve the good citizens of Spellbound Falls and Turtleback Station. The carts should make it easier for your mother to get to her new job, as well as give your residents a sense of self-reliance. They are electric, so please remember to plug them in each night. It was signed, The Special Delivery Fairy.
P.S. I hope you like the color.
As in little Charlie MacKeage’s special delivery fairy? Birch wondered with a smile as she tucked the card back in the cubbyhole. The safe and reliable transportation had to be Peg’s idea. It was just like her to worry about Hazel having to walk to work every day, too. All five committee women were thoughtful and generous, but Peg seemed particularly sensitive to the plight of struggling women, making Birch wonder about her life before she’d married Duncan.
Well, Vanetta Thurber was also especially fond of the Center, having confided to Birch that she’d been married to a violent—and thankfully now dead—bastard ten years ago when she’d lived in Alabama. In fact, Vanetta had donated her freaking house to be used as a shelter, even though she could have gotten a small fortune for shorefront property this close to town. And Peg had told Hazel it had been Vanetta’s idea to have Niall live in the converted bunkhouse rent-free in exchange for keeping an eye on the shelter residents.
Birch wondered if keeping his hands on the shelter director had been part of the deal. She sucked in a final whiff of new-truck smell, then got out and softly closed the door. With one final scowl at the still-quiet house, she hugged herself against the penetrating chill and started back across the yard, an added spring in her step at the thought of dragging Niall out of his nice warm bed to rescue her again.
He opened the door before she’d even finished knocking, wearing jeans and boots but no shirt, his hair damp from the shower and an errant dab of shaving cream near his sideburn. “Back already?” His gorgeous green eyes ran over her like a molten caress as Birch tried to remember why she was there. “Well, if ye insist,” he said on a heavy sigh, sweeping her off her feet. “But I can’t promise I’ll be at the top of my game.”
Birch hoped to God he was teasing.
Or maybe not.
“Wait. I’m not here to— Niall, stop!” she said on a laugh. “I’m locked out of the house.” He halted in the bedroom doorway, looking so disappointed that she kissed his clean-shaven cheek. “I just need help climbing in my bathroom window.” She toyed with a lock of damp hair at the nape of his neck, liking how the length made him appear roguish. “Do you happen to know anyone who’s good at rescuing damsels in distress?”
“Not particularly,” he said, opening his arms and making her yelp of surprise end in a whoosh when she landed on the unmade bed. “Why don’t ye ask your new best buddy to fly in the window and unlock the door for you?” he said, walking away.
Birch gaped at his retreating back; the guy was jealous of a bird? “Or I can ask my newest best buddy, the Special Delivery Fairy,” she said, scrambling off the bed in pursuit, only to bump into him when he stopped and turned to her.
He caught hold of her shoulders when she bounced off him. “When did ye meet the Special Delivery Fairy?” He turned away again, grabbed a shirt thrown over one of the stools at the counter peninsula, and continued into the small living area that was all of three steps away from the kitchen.
“I didn’t actually meet her in person.”
“Obviously,” he said, shaking his head as he buttoned his shirt. “Because everyone knows Special Delivery Fairies are hims. So what did he bring you?”
“She brought me a brand-new truck,” Birch said, going to the open door and gesturing outside with a smug smile. “A candy-apple red SUV just like the ones most of the committee women drive, with enough cargo space to move a mom and several children to safety.” Birch turned her smile sinister. “And it’s big enough that if anyone tries running me off the road again, they’ll be the one floating down a—what?” she asked when Niall’s entire countenance suddenly changed.
“One,” he said ever so softly, “either I or one of my officers will accompany you whenever you go check on a woman who might need help.”
“Now wait a minute.”
“And two,” he added more forcefully as he took a step closer, “you’re not to leave the town proper until we find out who ran you off the road.”
“You’re actually telling me what I can and can’t do?” She closed the distance between them. “Don’t even think last night gave you any rights over me.”
He bent until their noses were nearly touching. “You leave town, you’d best head straight for the border and hope I don’t catch ye before you cross.” He straightened, grabbing his jacket on his way outside, but stopped and turned to her. “And for the record, I’d made my decision before you knocked on my door last night. And Birch?”
“What?” she snapped.
“Something else ye might want to know about me is that I never bluff. You leave town alone, and I will come after you,” he said, turning and striding to his truck just as Shep came racing inside. The dog grabbed his Kevlar vest off the floor, gave Birch what appeared to be an equally quelling look, then raced back outside.
Birch stood listening to Niall’s pickup start up then slowly idle out the driveway, and tried to decide what had just happened. How ha
d the man gone from teasing lover to bossy brute in the blink of an eye?
She also tried to recall the last time anyone had dared to tell her that she couldn’t do something. About a month after her seventh birthday, if she remembered correctly, when Grand-père St. Germaine had suddenly decided she couldn’t go to her new best friend’s house after school anymore. Something about the girl being too uppity, he’d said, or some similar nonsense.
Birch had calmly—since she’d stopped crying within a week of going to live with the St. Germaines—called her dad at work to tell him good-bye. She’d gone on to say she was using her birthday money to buy a bus ticket to Montreal, and promised to call him again from her real home to let him know she’d made it okay. And for him not to worry, because the penthouse had a really nice doorman, and there were plenty of nice neighbors to help her out until her mom came home from the hospital.
Still dressed in his uniform, Claude had pulled up behind Birch as she had been walking down the road hoping a bus would come along soon. She hadn’t made it a mile because her backpack had been filled with her birthday present from her dad and what few possessions he’d retrieved from her real home six months earlier. He’d lifted the heavy pack off her shoulders and led her back to his truck with the promise he would take her to see her mom.
After traveling for several mostly silent hours, Birch had been confused when they’d pulled onto the sprawling grounds of what had looked like a resort. Claude had asked her to wait at the front desk with the nice lady, then had returned half an hour later, taken her hand, and led her down the darkened hall past several closed doors.
Birch had to give him credit; the parentally challenged man had stopped outside one of the doors, dropped to his knees and clasped her shoulders, and at least tried to prepare her. “I know you don’t remember anything about the explosion, Birch,” he’d said softly, his large hands warm and heavy on her shoulders. “But you do know that the reason you came to live with me is because your grand-mémère didn’t survive and your mom was hurt too badly to be able to take care of you.”
Birch had remembered every last detail; she’d simply chosen to forget them.
“And,” Claude had gone on, “your mom agreed it would be better if you didn’t see how badly she was hurt, which is why you’ve only been able to talk to her on the phone, and then only in the last few months.” The man had actually smiled, which had only served to make Birch stiffen. “But I just explained to Hazel how grown up you are now that you’re seven, and she agreed talking to her in person might help you understand why you can’t be with her right now.” His hands on her shoulders had tightened. “And maybe not . . . well, not until you’re much older.”
“How much older?” Birch had asked, deciding she wouldn’t survive if she had to live with the St. Germaines much longer. “When I’m eight? Nine?”
“I’m sorry, Birch, but there’s a good chance it won’t be until you’re old enough to take care of yourself.” He’d taken a deep breath, further alarming her. “So when we go inside, try not to panic when you see your mom. And don’t start crying, okay?”
“I never cry,” Birch remembered telling him.
That had briefly brought back his smile. “Sorry, little cadet, I forgot. Let’s go with shocked, then. Try not to appear shocked when you see the brace she’s wearing. Hazel is . . . well, her spirit is just as fragile as her body, Birch.” He’d stood up and taken hold of her hand again. “Ready?”
Birch had nodded with all the conviction of a seven-year-old about to see her mother for the first time in six months, but nothing could have prepared her for what was on the other side of the door. She’d honestly thought they were in the wrong room, because the person lying in that bed trussed up in a full-body brace had in no way resembled her mother, even though the woman had sounded like her mom as she’d held out a frail, trembling hand and beckoned Birch closer.
Birch later learned that at the time, it was expected her mother would never walk again. They’d apparently forgotten to tell Hazel, though. The doctors needn’t have bothered welding metal rods to her spine, because the determination to get back her daughter had given her mother a backbone of steel. Two years after the explosion Hazel had taken her first unaided step, and eighteen months later she had swooped down on the St. Germaines and ripped Birch out of their coldhearted talons.
Claude had . . . Well, he hadn’t spoken much when he’d come to pick up Birch at the hospital four years earlier, and he hadn’t seemed to have much to say when she’d left, either. He’d actually sounded surprised when she’d called him two weeks later and asked if he was coming to Montreal for the weekend to see her.
And to this day, she was still dropping him clues on being a dad.
“Birch? Birch, are you outside?”
Oh, maudit, how long had she been standing there? “I’m here, Mama,” she shouted, rushing out of Niall’s cottage. “Did you see what we got?” she said, realizing the carts were a perfect excuse for why she’d been locked out of the house. “The note said they’re from the Special Delivery Fairy,” she explained as her mother came down the stairs carrying Mimi. “And Dr. Bentley got a new truck, too.”
“As in Charlie’s fairy?” Hazel asked, setting Mimi down on the walkway.
“How many Special Delivery fairies can there be? I got so excited when I looked out the kitchen window this morning,” Birch rushed on brightly, “that I ended up on the wrong side of a locked door when I ran out to see them.” She waved toward Niall’s cottage. “So I went over to see if Chief MacKeage might have a spare key. I think Peg’s the fairy,” she quickly added when her mother stopped looking at the empty spot where Niall’s truck usually sat and turned suspicious eyes on Birch. Birch herded Hazel toward the closest cart and urged her to sit behind the steering wheel. “The fairy said in her note that you should use one of the carts to go to and from work every day, and the other one will give the residents a sense of independence.”
“One of these is for me?” Hazel asked, gripping the wheel as she scanned the interior. “But I can afford to buy my own cart,” she whispered, shaking her head as she looked up at Birch, only to start nodding. “I should do that, and leave these for the residents to use.”
“Why, so Noreen can commandeer both?” Birch said with a laugh, heading for the house. “She’s only going to complain that now she has two more things to clean.”
“My, my, bébé,” Hazel drawled, following behind her. “Did you have a fight with your pillow last night? Because from the looks of your hair, I would say you lost.”
Birch ran up the stairs, refusing to reach up and touch what probably looked like a bird’s nest—hopefully not an eagle’s. Yes, Hazel might be naive when it came to her own dealings with men, but she’d always been maddeningly perceptive when it came to her daughter’s love life—or lack thereof. Birch stopped at the door and watched her mom stiffly mount the stairs, which told her just how taxing her accident yesterday had been on Hazel, since her old injury usually only acted up when she was stressed. “You know how wild my hair gets when I shampoo it just before going to bed.”
Hazel stopped beside her and glanced toward Niall’s cottage. “Niall left without helping you?” she asked, her eyes suspicious again.
“He was already gone,” Birch said, finally entering the kitchen. “But I thought I’d check if his door was unlocked on the chance he had a key to the main house hanging on his . . . Oh, mon Dieu, Mama,” she said in exasperation, heading down the hallway. “You better hurry up and get dressed.” She stopped at her bedroom door and shot her mother a smirk. “Chief MacKeage looks to me like the sort of boss who will dock your paycheck for being even five minutes late.”
Chapter Fourteen
Driving back from introducing Cole to more of the business owners in Turtleback Station, Niall thought about how he was finally starting to get a handle on Birch; the only problem being that mos
t of what he was learning about her was secondhand. In fact, if not for the scent of lavender still lingering on his pillows, he might suspect he’d only dreamt her knocking on his door five nights ago.
He didn’t regret issuing his little edict that she not leave town alone, although he did wish he hadn’t been so blunt. But he’d been counting on the fact that losing her only means of transportation had effectively solved that particular worry for him—or it had until the Special Delivery Fairy had made a late-night visit. He couldn’t even blame Shep for not warning him in time to come up with another plan, since everyone knew fairies were silent, sneaky little bastards.
Roger Bentley certainly appeared happy with his new SUV, especially when it came to making backcountry house calls at two in the morning. Hell, the good doctor was so grateful to the benevolent fairy, apparently, that he’d finally let Carolina talk him into opening a second clinic a hundred crooked miles away in Pine Creek next fall. But where Bentley had seen the truck as a personal gain, Birch had only seen all the women she could lug back to the crisis center.
She’d actually headed out again three days ago, this time in search of a young girl the high school teachers had told her they were worried about. And near as Niall could tell, the only reason the shelter didn’t have a new resident was because Birch had asked Cole to accompany her. Again proving that neither of his officers intended to follow the rules, Cole had apparently pulled the boyfriend aside for a little man-to-man talk, after which he’d told Birch not to worry, since his being assigned to Turtleback had effectively put the young couple on his watch.
Oh yeah, hiring Jake and Cole had definitely been one of his wiser decisions.
But other than that one trip to Turtleback, Birch had surprisingly stayed close to home. Niall wasn’t surprised, however, that she hadn’t spoken to him since the morning he’d threatened to chase her down if she left town.
The Highlander Next Door Page 17
